Waking Nightmare
by Chase Clayrens Wikolay
Summary: At first, Staff Sergeant Michael Greensburg thought that it was just to be a routine shipment. But when he and the rest of his squad are kidnapped by ONI, he is faced with calamaties he never thought he would face before. Rated T, Strong Language, OC's.
1. Prologue

Waking Nightmare

Chase Clayrens Wikolay

_ Why can't I feel any pain? There should be pain, shouldn't there? I should feel something, shouldn't I? I'm pretty sure I should be feeling something. So why can't I feel anything? There should be a burning, a slicing, a…a…a something, shouldn't there? I know that I'm not dead, and I know I'm not fine, so where's the pain?_

_ I push with my hands, pushing my head up off the ground. I have to see if there is something wrong with my body. But when I see, I am confused. My legs…my legs are missing. Why are my legs missing? I didn't…didn't do anything to them, did I? I try to remember what may have happened that could have caused my horrific dilemma. Was it a bomb? A grenade? A rocket? But I just can't think straight._

_ The memories flood back, rushing in like a great dam just burst. I was standing in the area of affect of a Wraith tank. I tried to dodge a blast, but I reacted too slowly. I felt nothing, nothing except a searing pain at my knees. I continued firing at the aliens in front of me, watching as my fellow soldiers, my brothers, ran ahead of me. They ignored me, to enraptured by the fight to worry about a fallen, likely dead, soldier. Then...then I think I must have blacked out._

_ Then it comes: a pain, a terrible pain that starts at my legs, or what's left, and works itself up my body. It is the pain I remember feeling before I blacked out. And as the pain comes, I see something else: a Brute, drool dripping from its fanged mouth…no, not a brute. It's a Brute Chieftain, wearing an honorific headdress, and wielding a massive gravity hammer. It raises the hammer above its head, and brings it down on my head._

"Aaaaaagh!"

I bolt upright, and turn my eyes cautiously, first one way, then the other. I'm in my bunk, in the barracks on Reach. The wind ruffles my hair, and I shiver; it is then I notice that I am drenched, head to toe, in glistening sweat. It was just a…a nightmare. I run a hand through my hair, and sigh. I watch my breath condensation, noting the cool chill in the air. Turning my wrist upward, I see that it is only 0200. I lie back down, but try not to fall asleep. I can't fall asleep. Not with that nightmare hanging in my mind, not with my heart beating against my chest.

"Left! Left! Left Right Left!" _Thump! Thump! Thump Thump Thump!_ The pounding, along with the Sarge's constant yelling, beats a hard rhythm into the powdery soil. I don't know why Sarge has us running laps. But right now I don't care. All I care about is finishing; all I care about is ending this run. I puff, and shake my head. Thoughts don't help you run, actions do.

I keep running, and the rest of the platoon keeps running. We don't stop, we don't slow down. We all know that the pain our bodies feel is a warm shower compared to Sarge's wrath. We have all experienced Sarge's way of dealing with "insubordinates," as he calls those that don't do everything exactly right. We have all lain down on our bunks, arching our backs from the wounds he has inflicted.

I shake my head again. The run is almost over. I can see our base ahead, maybe five or six miles away. I sigh in relief, glad to be close to the end of our run. My legs…my legs are like jelly. I can barely stand on them, let alone run. But somehow, I keep running. Just like somehow, the UNSC keeps fighting the Covenant. I think I have come to the conclusion that _that_ is the purpose of our runs: to remind us that we should never give up.

As we reach base, codenamed Camp Cherokee, Sarge nods. The platoon gasps for breath, simultaneously as an entity. I feel my legs buckle beneath me, and allow gravity to take over. I sink down, my legs collapsing beneath me. I watch my fellow soldiers follow suit. I wonder what menial task Sarge will have me—not my squad, platoon, or anyone else, me—do today. I hope that it will have at least something to do with guns. I've always loved guns.

I see Sarge walking toward me. Sarge isn't really a Sergeant, he's a Major. But everyone calls him Sarge; and the funny thing is that no one seems to know or care why. I see him glare, in that odd affectionate way of his, at me. I see him stop. I stand, and go to attention.

"At ease, Sergeant," he says. I put my hands down, behind my back. I am no more "at ease" then when I was at attention. "We have a shipment arriving from Earth. I want your squad to take charge of the operation, and guard the shipment."

"Sir? You want us to guard…supplies?" I'm confused. Why would a squad need to guard supplies? But maybe they aren't supplies; maybe they are weapons, or explosives, or…or…something else.

"I never said that, did I? I just said you were going to guard our next shipment arrival. Am I clear, Sergeant?" My eyebrows come together. If the shipment is not supplies, then what is it?

"Perfectly, sir!" He nods, and gives me the details of my squad's new mission. He nods again after he is finished, indicating for me to prepare my squad. Knowing exactly where they are, for they are always in the same place every day, I turn. I turn toward my barracks, and walk toward them. The pain I felt earlier is gone. I reach the door, and open it, to see my squad idling.

There's Privates Riley Johnson, with his small stature, muscular build, and shaggy brown hair much longer than regulations permit. There's Privates Ling Su and Lei Su, identical twins that I can never tell apart; they have short black hair, dark skin, and extremely thin frames. I watch the three of them play poker, Texas Hold 'em if I'm not mistaken. Ling and Lei are good bluffers, and they always win. But Johnson, he always was lucky.

I see Private First Class Jason McRow leaning against his bunk. McRow always thinks he's the coolest soldier out there. Private Shirlie Banks is sitting across from him. I could always tell they liked each other, but they never showed it. They were talking animatedly now, conversing no doubt about some music group or other. Private Jeremy Damen, a stolid young man, walks past them, cutting off their views of each other. Although McRow seems annoyed, Damen ignores the glares. Damen is a large man, a native African-American with enormous arms, glaringly white teeth, and a shiny bald head. I find it surprising that Damen's uniform even fits him, but somehow he manages.

My second in command, Corporal Gregory Mitchell, is taking a nap. He is extremely short, only around 5'3". He has a dark tan around his entire body, and he keeps his light blond hair at about 4", so it "looks nice, but professional," as he would say. He always manages to cheer up the squad, cracking jokes, encouraging us, and complimenting us. Definitely a must in my squad.

Then I see the last member of my team. He stands at 5'7", has a slim, muscular build, and short black hair, shorter than even regulations. He has slightly larger than average muscles, and is currently wearing only his uniform bottoms. He wears a sleeveless tank, and has his uniform top tied around his waste. The man is young, the youngest member of my squad; he is 21 years old. But the most interesting thing is that he is looking in a mirror, watching himself standing in the doorway. He is me, Staff Sergeant Michael Greensburg.

"Attention!" I call out. My squad scrambles to stand, and with a resounding THUMP, the table that my squad was using falls over. Cards spill out across the floor, but no one scrambles to pick them up. I look over them one more time, then nod. "At ease." As they put their arms down, I clear my throat. "The Major has a mission for us. He has assigned us to guard the next shipment arriving from Earth. I don't know why, and I don't care why. We have our orders, and we will follow through completely." I pause for a moment, and glance towards Mitchell, then continue briefing them. "We are to be at landing pad G5 at 0730." I relax, and indicate for my squad to continue their activities. I motion to Mitchell, and head into my private area, nicknamed my "office." He follows, and shuts the door behind himself. Before I get a chance to speak to him, he starts firing off.

"Sir, what is the meaning of this? Why would the Sarge send a squad of marines, Helljumpers even, just to guard the arrival of one shipment? What is in that shipment anyway?" I sigh, knowing someone was bound to ask me that. I give him the same answers that Sarge gave me, and let him out of my office. I know he is not satisfied with the answers I gave him, and I'm not either, but there's not exactly anything I can do about it. I press my fingers into my temple. Sarge's mission is giving me a headache, and Mitchell's questions don't help. I look at the watch on my wrist: it reads 2045. It's late; we must have run longer than I thought. I fall onto my cot, and close my eyes, falling into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

I wake up early, earlier than even required for today's mission. I get up, and push my hands into the air in a morning stretch. I take a quick shower in the squad shower, then get dressed in full combat gear. After I am fully clothed, I walk down the barracks, waking my squad from their slumber. When they are all awake, and hurrying to get dressed for today's mission, I look down at my wristwatch: 0551. We would be almost two hours earlier than needed, but that would be fine. When my soldiers are assembled and ready for the day, I pace around them, making sure that they are fully prepared for the day.

"Alright men, let's get our weapons and get to that landing pad," I say. There follows a chorus of "Hoorahs," and my squad and I file out of the small barracks. We stop at the small armory storage compartment outside, and grab our weapons (since weapons aren't allowed inside the barracks). I grab my standard BR55HB SR battle rifle, along with a custom sidearm. My handgun, called _Christina_ after my best friend before I joined up, has saved my life time and time again. I remember her fondly, as she is the only woman I have met that was not part of the Corps. I kiss _Christina_ on her barrel for good luck, just like I always do before a mission, then push her into my hip holster.

I sling my battle rifle across my shoulder, and whistle to get my squad's attention. They turn and follow me, each with their own special weapon load outs. I walk, my back rigid straight like it has always been for the past three years, towards the landing pads. As we walk, I notice that Camp Cherokee is empty. Sarge must have taken everyone else out on a run. I wonder why he didn't bring my squad, or why he even went out on a run, considering our mission today. Oh well, I don't really care. I'm just a soldier; I'm paid to shoot, not think.

When we reach the landing pads, my squad shifts their weapons nervously. I feel for them, but don't show it. Something isn't right; someone should have been here to greet us. I glance down at my watch: 0725. We are just barely early now, so a guard should have been posted. I put my hand up in a halt, and my squad immediately stops. I motion for them to hunker down and wait for the shipment, although I don't move an inch.

Five minutes later, a Pelican dropship arrives. First it's just a speck, a dot in the sky. But as it gets closer, I can make out its distinctive shape.

"Squad, form up!" I yell, and the squad hurries to obey. When the Pelican finally touches down, I move up to pull out the supply crates. But when the Pelican's back descends, revealing its interior, I can't see any crates. There is, however, a man dressed in a strange uniform.

"Gentlemen, thank you for joining me on this quaint morning." A sharp pain stabs in my back. I sense my squad mates falling around me, then I slump to the ground, unconscious.


	2. The Briefing

I wake up to hear a soft thrumming noise. I keep my eyes closed, not wanting to know what has happened to me, what happened to my squad. Keeping my eyes closed, I wonder how…whoever – managed to kidnap my squad. There was no one around, and the only pain I felt was a sting on my back. It must have been tranq darts. They're silent, don't injure the victim, and can be fired from a long range.

"Good morning, Sergeant Greensburg. Did you have a nice nap?" a deep voice asks, sounding amused.

Shit. How did they know I was awake? Oh well, it doesn't matter now, does it? I open my eyes, but I can't see anything. They must have blindfolded me.

"Who are you?" I ask. "What do you want with me and my squad?" I am angry, and it's evident in my voice. Hell, I don't care. I just want to figure out what's happening.

"Details are irrelevant at this moment, Sergeant. Right now, all you need to know is that you are needed." With that, I feel another sharp pain, this time in my neck. I slump down, unconscious again.

…

I wake up again, and open my eyes. This time I can see. I am laying on a cot in what appears to be a troop quarters area. I gaze around, notice the walls, and assume I am on a ship. I see the rest of my squad, laying unconscious on bunks around me. At least they're alive. I hope that whoever did this will be able to explain what is happening to us.

I get up, and walk over to a device on the wall by the door. I assume it is an intercom, and press the button.

"Hello, is anyone there?" I ask, wondering if I get an answer. The door swings open, and I jump back, surprised. A man enters. He appears to be about six feet tall, much taller than me. He looks old, too. His hair is gray, almost silver, and he is wearing the same uniform I remember from the Pelican. I see a logo on his right breast, and blink in surprise. The pyramid with the orb in the middle…that's the insignia of the Office of Naval Intelligence.

"Good morning again, Sergeant Greensburg. I know you may have a few questions, but all will be explained in due time. Now, if you would please wake your squad and bring them to the briefing room, I will gladly explain the situation to you. You will find that all your weapons have been stored in the armory. We have not touched any of your personal belongings, but we have packed necessities for you; this is going to be a long trip." With that, he turns around and leaves, leaving me staring after him. I grunt, turn around, and call out:

"Wake up, marines!" They scramble, the confusion showing in their faces. I ignore the looks. "We have a briefing in t-minus fifteen minutes to be in the briefing room. I expect all of you to be there in five!" I turn, and walk out of the room, just like the man. I follow the signs, and ask some people, and find my way to the briefing room. I see a long table, with black leather chairs seated all around it. Two minutes later, my squad bustles in, looking shambled and tired. I take a seat at a black leather chair, and my squad mates follow suit.

Three minutes later, the old man walks in. With him, though, are two younger men, both in ONI uniforms, and an older woman, wearing a Navy uniform. I stand up, and go to attention, and my squad does the same.

"At ease," the old man says. We put our arms down. "Please sit." I comply, sitting down in a chair, and my squad copies me. "No doubt all of you are confused, what with our…method of pickup, but don't worry, I'll explain everything.

"I suppose I should start with introductions. I am Rear Admiral James Franson, and these two men are Lieutenants Terrence Freeborne and Iosif Kierson. This is the captain of this ship, Captain Helen Greech. Lieutenants, Captain, this is Staff Sergeant Michael Greensburg and his squad.

"Right, now that that's over with, let's get on with your briefing. Recently, a planet has been discovered. We don't know what this planet may be, but we have detected a large concentration of Flood spores. We need a reliable team to be inserted, and eradicate this infestation so that we can continue investigation of the planet." He nodded toward Captain Greech, and she stood up.

"You have been chosen because there are currently no SPARTAN soldiers available to us. The stakes of this mission are extremely high. You should understand that there will be casualties on this mission. Unless any of your soldiers have any questions for me, Sergeant…" Although questions are bubbling up inside me, I keep quiet, betting on the chance that everything will be explained. The feeling is shared, it seems, as my squad keeps as silent as me. "Then we will move into the details of your mission."

At this juncture, both the rear admiral and the lieutenants stand up. As the lieutenants gather their papers, the old man extends a hand towards me. I am shocked, though I do not let the feeling show on my face as I reach my hand out to meet his.

"This is where I say goodbye, Sergeant. I wish you luck on your mission, and hope that your team will make it back here in one piece." We shake hands, our fingers firm and locked. Then, Franson releases his grip on my hand. As he turns to leave, I can't help but think that the goodbye is extremely commonplace. _Are we but mere soldiers in the eyes of one of such high rank?_ Shaking off the thought as the officers leave, I turn my attention back to Captain Greech.

"Good, that's over. Alright, now that those saps are gone, I have a little secret to share with you and your squad, Sergeant. The planet that you will be landing on isn't actually uncharted. However, the system that it is in is constantly in motion, and this opportunity is our only chance of eradicating the Flood." I am confused. How can the system move? I thought it was planets that moved, not entire systems. _But what do I know? I'm a soldier, not an astronomer. Some things will happen, and I won't be able to explain them._ Greech clears her throat, and I realize that I have turned my head from her. Looking back, I see that she is ready to continue.

"I should also warn you eight of another…complication. Our most recent scans of the system have shown increased Covenant activity near the planet that your mission revolves around. As such, you will all be equipped with special equipment. This equipment will have been specially modified by our top engineers." With a grunt, Jeremy Damen stands up, his questioning eyes staring down the Navy officer. She nods, and after he wipes his head and takes a breath, he opens his mouth.

"I have two questions for you," he says matter-of-factly in his deep, reverberating voice. "My first question is this: during the course of this mission, will we have a name, or a codename, for the planet in question?" Greech nods, as if this is the kind of question she answers every day.

"An excellent question, Private. And you are correct; during the course of this mission, the name of the planet, and the system too, will be kept confidential. Thus, you shall call the planet Alpha, and the system shall be Charlie." Damen nods in thanks before he asks his next question.

"And you say our equipment will be specially modified. Specially modified for what, exactly?" This time the old woman smiles, as though she was hoping someone would ask this question, and glad that somebody did.

"Your equipment, Private Damen, and all of yours too," she swept a shriveled hand over the squad, "will be specially modified for a stealth mission. You will have to get in fast, eliminate the Flood threat, and get out faster. Now, unless there are any other questions," her piercing eyes sweep over us before she continues, "then I will give you all your final pieces of information. You will be launched from Sub-Space one thousand kilometers from Planet Alpha. Your pods will impact no less than two hours after your launch, and you will land within a two-kilometer radius in northern hemisphere." The captain stands up, her chair clattering as she pushes it back. With an upward flick of her hand, she motions for me and my squad to do the same, and a resounding clamor ensues.

"You leave in three days. Until then, you are to get accustomed to your weapons, rest, and otherwise prepare for the coming mission." She looks around at us. "Attention!" We all snap to attention, and she gives us a satisfied nod. I notice something in her eyes, a faraway, almost melancholy look, as her eyes meet mind. "At ease…and good luck." Without another word, she turns her back and leaves. I turn around, and face my squad. Before I speak, I examine their faces, and see what they are feeling. From what I see on them, there's only the expected emotions: fear, excitement, nervousness, and sadness.

"Alright, boys and girls. You heard the lady. We're supposed to take the next three days preparing for the mission. Personally, I think that's a helluva long time, but I'm not in command, so it's not my choice. You know what I expect from you; you know your jobs. We can do this, and we can do it good. Hoo-Rah!" The squad echoes my cry as I turn to face the door. Walking up, I stretch out my arm and tap the metallic keypad. The door slides open with a hiss, revealing cold metal hallways.

I turn to the left, heading for my temporary quarters. After a quick walk through seemingly abandoned hallways, I arrive at the door to the small room. I step towards the door, and let the retina scanner run over my left eye. At the same time, I type a quick password into a keypad directly under the scanner. With a quiet beep, the door hisses open. As I step inside, it slides back shut, very nearly clipping the hair on the back of my head.

The dormitory, as I may as well call it, is small and simple. There is a cot in one corner, a bathroom in another, and a dresser in the third. The door rests in the final corner. I take a step in the direction of the cot, my boots clacking against the titanium floor. A glint of metal on the edge of the cot catches my eye, and I increase my pace until I reach the object. I blink, shocked by what it is.

Reaching out a shaky hand, I scoop up the handgun. Pulling it closer, I turn it over, and catch the eye of the inscription on the grip: _Christina_. They brought my baby to me; I blink, and clutch the pistol tightly to my chest. Something else on the cot catches my eye, and I reach out to grab the new discovery. It's a note, scrawled in fancy script, with a no-nonsense tone to it. I grin, knowing instinctively that it was the good Captain Greech who had written it. My eyes scanned it over once, and then began to follow the straight lines of small text:

Dear Sergeant Greensburg, I would like to present you with this firearm. While we watched you and your squad prepare yourselves for your mission the other day, we (we being Franson and I) noticed that you took an unusual interest in this particular weapon. Luckily, with a little bit of persuasion, I was able to get this weapon for you. I know not the reason behind your love for the weapon, but don't worry; I'm not about to start asking questions just yet. On another note, Sergeant, I have also included a few attachments for your weapon, this "Christina," as I believe you call it. I will not bore you with the details of these attachments, but you have been forewarned: all these attachments pertain to this mission, and so are for stealth purposes. It is unknown whether or not you will be allowed to keep such advanced modifications, but I'll let you know that I'm fighting on your side. Sincerely, Captain Helen Greech

I smile as I finish the quick note before I set it out and pick up the small box that accompanied the document. As the captain has done for me, I shall not bore myself with the contents of the box. I just take a quick glance inside, glad that the captain had thought about this. Setting both _Christina_ and the box of attachments on top of the dresser in the corner, I drop down onto the cot, suddenly exhausted. The events from the previous day flash by my eyes in a whirl, and I sigh, the hard mattress of the cot suddenly comfortable under my back. Closing my eyes, I slip into a deep sleep, void of dreams.


End file.
